Free, But Never Alone
by Crimson Snow Angel
Summary: Meet Deirdre, a private detective who's been hired to investigate the history of a house that's said to be haunted. Now meet the rag-tap crew of ghosts that haunt the house. A ghost is one thing, but the ghost of a pirate is completely different!
1. Deirdre

Crimson Snow Angel: First Pirates of the Caribbean fanfic, so I'm hoping that this goes well. I've seen the movie five or six times, so I shouldn't have too much trouble keeping people in character, but you never know. This story was kind of built on the backs of a couple of other things, so if you recognize anything, then I'm really sorry. Anyway on with the story!

Disclaimer: I'm only saying this once in the entire story, so listen up, PotC is not mine!

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**Free, But Never Alone.**

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Chapter 1: Deirdre. 

My name is Deirdre and I'm a private detective. A few years back I was hired to investigate the history of a certain house. I had been down on my luck at the time so I jumped at the job even though it wasn't really my type of thing. I'm a detective not a historian. But I needed the cash, and I got to live in the house for free. It may have been a crap job, but there was no reason to turn down free boarding.

The woman who hired me was an elderly grandmother type with frizzy white hair and slate gray eyes. "It's an old place," she said to me merrily, " and I'm quite interested in its story, but I want to know the truth." 

The old house was a manor with a lighthouse that nested on the top of a cliff with nothing but ocean below it. Apparently there was a story in town that the house was haunted by all the sailors that were killed by the cliff's jagged rocks before the lighthouse went up. Now I digress that I was not a superstitious person and I wasn't about to let some spook story keep me from collecting my cash. 

The day I moved in was gray and foggy. The foghorn's lonely wail was enough to remind me why I loved the ocean. Out there I could be free, and more importantly **alone**. Silently I walk through the large entrance gate and up the gravel road, the house barely visible in the thick fog. After about a hundred yards or so the house loomed ominously before me (looking suspiciously like a cross between the house from Casper, and the Adam's Family house,) the old lady waiting before me smiling.

"I hope you can get more use out of this house than I ever did," she chirped. "Here are the keys," she added, handing me a large ring with huge iron keys on it, obviously the house was older than I thought. "And just between you and me, dear, if anything… funny happens perhaps you should get a cat or two. Better safe than sorry!" she laughed. I gave her a weird look, she obviously believed that there were ghosts here, and since cats were the guardians of the underworld, she thought that it would help. I watched her carefully as she disappeared into the fog, wondering how the entire town could be filled with superstitious people. Turning to the large front door I opened it, and walked in determined to prove that it was just a boring old manor DEVOID of anything supernatural. As the door closed behind me there was no way I could've realized that the Deirdre that walked into the manor, would not be the same Deirdre that would walk out. 

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Crimson Snow Angel: It was short, but it did set up the premises of this story, so stick with me here, because next chapter we get to see some familiar faces! ^_~ Review please!!

(Hey everybody great news! I was online looking for the DVD release date, when I saw that they're making a PotC sequel and it's going to just about all of the original cast in it!)    


	2. The House

Crimson Snow Angel: My parents are out of town, I'm bored out of my mind, and I'm not going to school for the next two days (bad cold) so you lucky people get more of my story. That is, until I get the Pirates of the Caribbean computer game working, damn thing keeps on freezing before it even loads the game. Not that you wanted to know that. 

Now I know that no one has said this yet, but I'm going to explain this now. This story is NOT a self-insert (thought that is one of my favorite type of story) it's just written in first person. I have an easier time writing this way, and I think you get a better idea of how the character thinks and feels. Oh, and if anyone had trouble pronouncing Deirdre it's kinda like Deedra. Thanks for listening. 

Author's Response:

Cloaca Maxima: Thank you, I was really hoping that this would be different from everything else that's been done.

Cr@zyowl: Things might not speed up for a while, so I hope that I'll keep your attention until then. Thanks for reviewing.

Vaughn: I'm hoping it's going to be really good. Thanks for wishing me luck; I'm probably going to need it. I just hope I don't loose your interest; I'd hate to loose one of the few reviewers that's blatantly honest. Thanks much!

**Free, But Never Alone.**

Chapter 2: The House.

The first thing that became apparent about the house was that it was dark. It seemed that all the windows were covered with sun-blocking dust and filth, and that the few rooms that did have light fixtures did not work. My luck to a tee; anything that can go wrong will go wrong. I stumbled around in the dark going from room to room looking for a light that worked or a candle, whichever came first. Finally, after fumbling through most of the first floor, I found an ancient oil lamp. Quickly I pulled out my lighter (no I'm not a smoker, I just enjoy lighting candles) and light the wick. 

The light was dim and cast eerie shadows about the place, but it would have to do. Now able to see I looked around the room I was in. It appeared to be some sort of formal dining room, with ebony furniture, velvet drapes, and crystal chandeliers. The rugs were old and threadbare, but in their prime they must have been simply extravagant. 

"That's odd," I muttered while looking at some of the fine chairs. Behind the chairs there were small tracks left in the thick layers of dust on the floor, looking as though someone had recently sat in them. Feeling a little disconcerted at my finding I decided to explore some other rooms. With each new room that I entered I lit a few oil lamps (there seemed to be a few portable ones here and there, as well as four or five wall mount ones in each room) until the entire first floor was lit. Though utterly covered in dust all the furnishings of the first floor were beautiful and likely to be very expensive. It would take a while getting used to not having electric lights, but the furniture could more than make up for it. 

The second floor proved to be almost identical to the first with the small exception of not having a kitchen (meaning it was basically a sitting room, a bathroom, a library, a dining room, and a ballroom, with an assortment of closets and hidden stair wells.) The third floor was comprised mostly of bedrooms and bathrooms (I turned on one of the faucets in the largest bathroom, and the water came out rusty at first, but it worked, which made me slightly uneasy about the whole lights not working thing.) I was just about to go and get my stuff from the main foyer so that I could get settled in a room when I noticed a door that had something carved into the frame. Whatever it said I was unable to make out in the dim light and floating dust, so I opened the door.

It stuck at first, but swung open soon enough, revealing a small landing with a set of stairs that went down and a set of stair that went up. I chose to go up first as I had undoubtedly already seen whatever was downstairs. The wooden boards creaked beneath my feet, the dust doing nothing to muffle the sound. After climbing for what felt like forever I reached a single closed door that had sayings carved into it here and there such as, "Treasure attic," " Tortuga Landing," or "Black Pearl's Final Berth." It struck me as odd that such an extravagant looking house would have graffiti etched into one of its doors.

Opening the door I was first greeted with a monstrous cloud of dust, but once it settled a strange sight lay before me. The attic itself was rectangular, with window alcoves here a there and a door that led out onto a rooftop balcony, and a ceiling that was flat on top but was angled on the sides so that from the doorway the over all shape of the room was not a cube but a trapezoid. There were small café tables and chair strewn about the place, odd chests and cupboards here and there, and bits of the walls were painted blue, green, red, or left as plain dark wood. Overall the décor was truly mismatched. What really set the mood though was what was lying in heaps on the floor. The were tarnished swords, daggers, piles of moth eaten cloths, scrolls and maps along with blank parchment paper, spiraling towers of ancient gold coins, scraps of old wood, raggedy things that perhaps had once been small cloth dolls, tarnished silver basins, hats and belts hanging from chairs and chests, and beautiful jewelry (perhaps the only thing that didn't look filthy) in tangled bunches. Most interesting of all though, was on the left wall, between two window alcoves, was an art piece of sorts. A weather beaten black canvas covered the wall, on top of which was a collection of frayed flags, a few I recognized as European nations, but for the most part they all portrayed a skull with crossed bones on it. The windows were clean for some reason, and light filtering through the kicked up dust made the attic look like an abandoned pawnshop. 

"Ceremony, ceremony, ceremony. Give it a rest already mate we're dead! There's really no point in crossing swords with me now. You do this every… day… And you're not Norrington," a heavy male voice with a British twang said behind me. 

I paid no attention to what the man was saying, "The old lady never said anything about other people living here as well," I replied without turning around. 

"That's because no one **is** living here," he replied in a bored way.

"So you broke in then?" I asked, turning around to get a look at the intruder. He was a tall man of about thirty. His eyes were lined with kohl, and his hair was done in both dreads and braids with coins and beads strung through it. He had a mustache, and a goatee that was done in two braids also with beads. Looking downwards I did a double take at his cloths. He looked like something out of one of the 'Treasure Island' movies. "Who are you?" I asked narrowing my eyes. I knew this town was old fashioned, but this was pushing it.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Or more to the point, the Ghost of Captain Jack Sparrow," he said merrily, while I just looked on in disbelief. 

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Crimson Snow Angel: I was hoping that you'd meet more of the people in the house, but it was taking me longer to type than I would have liked, so I'll get to it next chapter. I hope you liked it. Read and REVIEW please!!!!!! ^_^


	3. The Black Pearl

Crimson Snow Angel: Wow it's been a long time! Sorry. School got hectic and then my computer crashed, taking all my writing with it. Got a new computer out of the deal though, so it's not all that bad. I apologize to anyone who actually waited all this time for an update, I really do feel awful.

Well, enough stalling, on with the story!!!

**Free, But Never Alone**

Chapter3: The Black Pearl.

Re-Cap

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Or more to the point, the Ghost of Captain Jack Sparrow," he said merrily, while I just looked on in disbelief.

"Right then, well I'm just going to call the police now," I said giving 'Captain Sparrow' the 'you're crazy' smile.

"How's that? None of the electronics work in this house," he replied smiling.

"The Lighthouse-"

"One of the last man-operated ones left."

"And the water?"

"The only exception."

"Well then," I sighed, "I'm just going to have to ask you to leave."

"You really don't believe me when I tell you I'm dead, do you?" He asked eying me amusedly.

I was getting agitated and beginning to think I had made a mistake in taking the job. Whoever this man was he was certainly trying my patients. "Look Mister," I huffed angrily, "I really don't have time for your shenanigans, and I would greatly appreciate it if you left. Now preferably." I made a reach for his hand to yank him towards the door, and received a shock when my hand went straight through his. A cold shiver ran up my spine at the feeling of nothing but air where his solid body should have been. "You really are a ghost," I said, teeth chattering slightly from shock and cold.

"Told you, didn't I?" He replied with a smug look.

"But- but how?" Truly and honestly I did not want to believe it. I was never superstitious, I didn't hold with such nonsensical things as wandering ghosts and vengeful spirits. This new development was like getting slapped in the face.

"It's a bit of a long story," he shrugged, while managing to look thoughtful at the same time.

"Well, you've got the time, and I'm not going anywhere anytime soon," I said waving my hand through his chest experimentally, and feeling shivers race up my spine when it went straight through him and stuck out his back.

"D'you mind?" He asked amusedly.

"Oh, sorry," I replied embarrassedly. "The name's Deirdre, by the way."

"Well then, Deirdre, you might want to pull up a seat, this may take a while." Quickly I sat down at one of the small tables and watched him sashay about the room before going into full-blown story mode.

"As I said my name's Jack Sparrow, Captain of the Black Pearl-" I briefly remembered that the door had said something about the Black Pearl, "-greatest pirate ship in all of the Caribbean," he said, gesturing wildly and looking pleased with himself. He glanced at me quickly and looked slightly put out when I didn't look all that impressed. "Anyway there comes a time in every pirate's career that they've made a bit of a name for themselves, and believe you me, I had quite an infamous name going for myself." Here he smiled. "The only problem with that is sooner or later some sort of law enforcing ninny begins to track all the routs that you generally sail on, and that gets to be a bit problematic. No one wants to sail into a port, just to be clapped in irons. Freedom is a very important thing to a pirate."

"Understandable," I nodded.

"Well it just so happens that I had the biggest law enforcing ninny after my hide; Commodore Norrington. After talking to the crew of my Pearl for a while we decided that the best plan of action was to avoid the Commodore by expanding our market northward. It didn't work for very long however. He seemed hell-bent on trying hanging me again."

"Again?"

"That's a story for another day, lass. Anyway after a few months he was pretty much breathing down our necks. That's when we sailed here. We thought we could hide the Pearl in one of the cliff alcoves and wait for the Commodore to pass right by us so that we could head back to the Caribbean unnoticed." He gestured wildly again and stopped his sashaying/pacing to take the seat opposite me. "The day we pulled in was a lot like today, thick fog everywhere. Back then there wasn't any lighthouse on the cliff, so we couldn't rightly judge where the rocks were until we ran into them."

"Surely your ship didn't sink so fast that you couldn't get off in time?" I asked stunned.

"No, problem was Norrington had expected our move and was right behind us, until we hit the cliff, then he was on top of us. The ships broke under the pressure and a lot of the different crews got trapped under the wreckage, myself and the Commodore included."

"And those that made it off safely?"

"Most of them never made it to the shore alive. While liberating it must be said that the sea is not a very forgiving Mistress." Jack stood up and resumed his odd swagger-step around the room. "After the wreck those of us that emerged as ghosts came here, taking everything we could off the ships."

"So you can lift stuff?" I asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Aye," he said, picking up a few coins to prove his point.

"But not people?" I ventured.

Jacked sighed. "That's a tough one to explain. Normally I can't touch people without passing through them, but sometimes I can. I haven't quite figured out how it all works yet."

"Ok, so why don't any of the electronics work in the house?"

"I guess ghosts and technology don't mix, and don't even bother asking about why the water still works, not even Norrington has figured that out yet," He answered picking some none existent lint off of the flag-canvas wall hanging thing.

"What **is** that?" I asked gesturing to the thing.

"This? Well the black canvas is one of the smaller sails from the Pearl, and the flags are from the ships of ghosts who decided to make a little alliance against any of the law enforcing ninnies that I mentioned before."

"So why do you stay here? Other than passing right through other people, you could pass off as a perfectly normal man," I stated somewhat thinking in the back of my mind that even in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt there would be nothing normal about the way that Jack Sparrow talked, swaggered, and gestured.

"Don't think we haven't tried, many times actually. We just can't leave, probably has something to do with the fact that we died in this general area, and this is where our ships' remains' are."

"I guess that makes sense," I nodded.

"So, now that I've told you my story, why don't you tell me yours? What brings you to this abandoned and beat up place?" He asked finally turning back to look at me.

"I'm a private investigator, and lately I've been down on my luck. Then this old lady called me and said that she wanted me to find out the real history of some old house. Free room and board and a heft sum of money. This really isn't my kinda thing, I'm more into crime investigation than history, but I needed the cash." I shrugged.

"Crime Investigation?" Jack asked giving me a weird look.

"I don't do any law enforcement, that's the polices' job. I just find out what happened, nothing more, nothing less," I offered.

It looked as though Jack was about to say something but stopped short when a loud crash came from outside on the rooftop balcony, followed immediately by an indignant, "Get back here with that, you miniature scallywag!"

CSA: Longer than last chapter I think. Anyway I hope you like liked it. Review Please!!


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